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My Husband Wants Me To Serve His Mistress Novel Cover

My Husband Wants Me To Serve His Mistress

For five years, she endured a cold contract marriage, forgotten by a husband who treated her as nothing more than an afterthought. But when Blake brings his mocking mistress, Kendall, into their home to flaunt their affair, the humiliation reaches its peak. Forced to clean up after them while listening to their cruel laughter, she remains silent. They believe she is defeated, but she holds a secret weapon: a signed divorce agreement. In just one week, the contract ends, and her freedom begins.
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Chapter 4

I lowered my gaze, the world before me slipping into a haze. Large, hot tears splashed onto my swollen knees.

The pain from the wound was sharp, but it barely scratched the surface compared to the ache in my heart.

I hailed a taxi, the loneliness in the backseat a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind.

As the doctor tended to my injury, she muttered about the patient in the next room, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"These girls today are just so spoiled," she sighed. "A tiny burn, barely the size of a fingernail, and her boyfriend called the director. He threatened to shut down the whole hospital if she got a scar..."

She paused, a wistful tone taking over. "You don’t get it. That’s what it means to be loved. I envy her. She has it all—handsome, rich, devoted. She’s got a man who’d do anything for her..."

I stared down at the grotesque burn on my thigh, an involuntary sneer twisting my lips.

Blake was indeed the perfect man from the outside—handsome, wealthy, and all-consuming. But what did it all mean without love?

After the doctor finished, I sat on a bench outside the ward, trying to steady myself, lost in thought.

Then, Blake and Kendall appeared, walking toward me.

When Blake saw the bandages on my leg, his frown deepened.

"You got hurt too? Why didn’t you say anything?"

Before I could answer, he continued, his tone judgmental. "Well, that’s your fault. You can’t even carry a cup of water properly. Luckily, Kendall didn’t get hurt. Otherwise..."

Blake, ever the picture of cold indifference, stood there, his arms wrapped tightly around Kendall.

Kendall leaned sweetly into him, her voice soft with feigned innocence. "Don’t blame her, Blake. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so selfish, asking her to take care of me..."

Blake’s arms tightened around Kendall protectively as if he were shielding her from any harm.

"Don’t be silly. I’ve raised her for five years. Even if you treat her like a servant, it’s still your responsibility."

"As long as you’re happy, you can make her do anything," Kendall added, her voice dripping with sweetness.

With that, they left, walking off as if nothing had happened.

Not once did Blake care to ask about my injury, never once sparing a thought for the pain I was in.

I lowered my head, my limbs too weak to move. I tried a few times, but I couldn’t find the strength to walk.

"Miss, would you like me to contact your husband?" the nurse asked gently, her voice full of concern.

I watched them disappear down the hallway, and a bitter smile curled on my lips.

"No. We’ll be divorced soon," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

A week passed, and still no sign of Blake.

He had taken Kendall to New York, leaving me behind in this empty villa.

Each day, Kendall sent me photos—pictures of them embracing beneath the Statue of Liberty, kissing amid the bustling crowd of Times Square, kneeling before a sky ablaze with fireworks.

There were too many to count.

The final night before the five-year mark, I hid beneath the covers, alone in the vast emptiness of the villa.

I flipped through the photos, my hands trembling, each image a sharp reminder of the love I would never have.

By the time I reached the last one, my tears fell uncontrollably, slipping through my fingers like sand.

That night, I finally pulled away the light that had once warmed me, casting me into a cold, unfamiliar darkness.

When the divorce agreement took effect, Blake still hadn’t returned home.

I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye.

With a heavy heart, I packed up everything that was mine, placing the divorce agreement neatly on the coffee table.

I took one last, lingering glance at the villa that had held me captive for five years, its walls now nothing more than cold memories, before walking away without a single look back.

From that moment on, I would be free.

A free soul, no longer shackled by the chains of anyone or anything.

It was half a month later when Blake called, just as I was holding an invitation from the renowned designer Solomon Jennings.

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